


Rolling the Dice (Smutty One Shots from the Harry Potter Ship Generator)

by starcall (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, F/M, Infidelity, Kitchen Sex, Older Woman/Younger Man, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rare Pairings, Revenge Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24396529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/starcall
Summary: A series of smutty one shots with pairings randomly generated from the Harry Potter Ship Generator (https://harryspotter.tumblr.com/hpshipgenerator#).
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour/Dean Thomas, Susan Bones/Harry Potter, Terry Boot/Fleur Delacour, Theodore Nott/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	1. Parent Teacher Conference (Ginny x Nott)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James hasn't been doing so well in first year Potions, so Ginny decides to pay the new Potions Master a visit.

Let no one say Ginny Potter doesn't sacrifice for her children. The dungeon's stone floor is cold and hard on her knees and the Potions Master's bony hands are rough in her ginger hair, but Ginny sucks dutifully on Theodore Nott's long cock, loudly choking and smacking as she swallows his length with skill and enthusiasm.

Nott's as weedy and stringy as he ever was in school, his dark robes hanging off of him, but now his rabbity face is rough with stubble and his brown hair is cut short where he used to wear it long. He looks down at her with smug pleasure, biting his curling lip as his breath comes harsh and thin from the efforts of Ginny's wet, bobbing mouth, her tight, welcoming throat. 

Ginny gives him the full treatment, swirling her tongue around his prominent bell-end, showing him how it bulges out her cheek from within. One hand cradles his hanging balls, the other tugs his shaft in perfect tandem. She even looks up at him, those bright brown eyes brazenly offering her mouth up, which is pretty convincing with his cock disappearing past her full lips.

"Fuck--" Nott groans, and grips her messy bun, shoving her down. Not expecting it, she gags, but by the time his slim hips start thrusting, she's easily gulping his entire length as he bounces her head on his cock in a brief, but vigorous face-fuck. He lets her off with a gasp and several lingering strands of saliva, and Ginny fidgets, feeling her nipples stiffen against her blouse. She curses herself. That's the trouble with being a total cockwhore--even now at 33, with three children, feeling her son's teacher hit the back of her throat is making her squirm. 

"Admirable... effort... Mrs. Potter..." Nott pants, boldly tapping his slick, hard dick against her freckled face. She flushes, cheeks growing hot against the taut skin of his shaft. The way he says it reminds her that he's a teacher. It's all to easy to imagine that she's a Hogwarts student again, a slutty schoolgirl on her knees in the dungeon for her Potions Master's prick. She'd never had that particular fantasy about Snape, but Nott is an uncomfortably good substitute--another greasy, arrogant Slytherin, who if James is to be believed, doesn't take kindly to famous Potters.

"The blouse..." He nods down at her chest. 

"An 85 for James this year, you said?" She raises her eyebrows. 

"Yes, yes, all right," He says impatiently. 

Ginny feels herself becoming wet as she slips the buttons, exposing her full breasts, pale and still quite perky, to the dungeon's cool air. 

"My, my. You were prepared to negotiate, weren't you?" Nott smirks, eyes hungrily drinking her in. She hadn't worn a bra, thinking merely a bit of teasing might get some preferential treatment for James. She hadn't expected Professor Nott to drive such a hard bargain. "Hold them, there you go--Hold them for me--"

She does, knowing what he wants even before he slides his cock between her tits. Ginny bites her lip as she watches his cockhead emerge from her ample cleavage. It turns her on, how shamelessly he's using her and how easily she's letting him. She wants to touch herself, but she needs both hands to squeeze her big tits around his stiff shaft. 

"Merlin.. yes," He grunts as he fucks her tits, one hand braced on her shoulder. "Look at you, Mrs. Potter--" He spits her husband's surname as he looks down at her with teeth-gritting delight. Ginny can't help but look up at him as she pumps his cock in earnest now, up and down, engulfing him in the suffocating embrace of her bouncing, freckled titflesh.

Her blazing gaze meets his. "Look at you, enjoying my cock--Harry Potter's _wife_..." He licks his lips. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?" 

Ginny feels a pleasurable rush of shame, because the automatic answer is yes, _fuck_ yes, but she bites her tongue, thinking of why she came here in the first place, even as her thighs squeeze together. "You'll pass them every year--all my children. Good marks, too." 

Nott throws his head back, clenching his jaw. "All right, all right--Bloody hell..."

She wants to leave him in suspense for a moment, but she can't wait, she's too wet, too hot. She stands, lifting up her skirt as Nott almost comically hurries to get behind her, a hand on her lower back shoving her over his desk, yanking her knickers aside. Thank god he doesn't tease her, because Ginny's not sure she's above begging as she feels his bulbous knob part her slick folds, sliding inside her with a single sharp thrust. 

She lets out a high gasp as Nott's cock fills her up, and her mouth drops open again as he grabs her by the hips and starts to fuck her, his strokes already frenzied and relentless. Giving her no chance to gather a shred of dignity, he roughly pounds her cunt until she's moaning wantonly and clinging to the edge of the desk for purchase.

"Yes, oh, fuck _, yes_ \--" Ginny gasps over the battering clap of his pelvis against her. She looks back to watch the round bubble of her ass ripple wildly under his driving hips. Ginny has grown to love the extra curve to her hips and thighs since she became a mother, loves that her peach of an ass is still firm, but even thicker than before.

Nott seems to love it, too. He bares his teeth, squeezing and spanking her cheeks greedily until the pale flesh reddens. "Merlin, you're fucking wet--You get off on choking on my cock, Mrs. Potter?" He hisses, rutting her from behind like a madman, dick plunging in and out of her sopping pussy. "You like how your son's Professor fucks your slutty little cunt?"

He adds a hard smack on her ass cheek to punctuate his point and Ginny lets out a positively pornographic moan. She's flushed bright red from face to tits, her hair coming out of her bun in wild ginger strands, driven halfway on top of the desk, one high-heel hanging off her pointed toes. "Yessss, oh god, yes... Fuck my married little cunt!" 

His breath is hot and ragged in her ear, one hand pawing at her tits, bouncing from the force of their fucking. "Bloody hell... cock-hungry... Gryffindor whore... aren't you?" Nott groans, his usually bored grey eyes wide.

She's shocking him with her wantonness, which gives her a naughty thrill that goes straight to her tingling pussy. "Mhm..." Feverishly, she works her hips against him, pressing her ass back to meet his merciless thrusts. His hand crawls up her neck and squeezes around her throat with the perfect amount of force and Ginny's eyes nearly roll back. 

"Does your husband know what a little slut you are?" Nott whispers. 

He does, of course, but she doesn't want to spoil the illusion for Nott. The idea that he's cuckolding Harry Potter has to be at least half of what's making him fuck her this hard.

Instead, she shakes her head, grinning and panting. "You're pounding Harry Potter's wife, Nott... Oh god, I can't believe I'm letting you fuck me..." 

Sweating and huffing, Nott clenches his jaw, still doggedly plowing her cunt. From the look of him, Ginny never thought the scrawny Slytherin would be able to keep up such a blistering pace. "Take it--Take it, you Weasley slut!" 

" _Ahhhh_ , give it to me, Nott, give me that Slytherin cock, come on... Fuck me harder..." She dares him, arching her back, lifting her ass up submissively.

Nott lets out a choked cry and fucks her faster, churning her dripping cunt with his throbbing cock, the desk's clawed feet scraping violently against the stone floor. His hand wraps around her bun, tugging her head back, and Ginny screams, her wanton cries bouncing off the dungeon walls, thankful that they're deep below the castle. "Fuck yes, fuck yesss, fuck me, Nott! Fuck me! God, I'm close... Right there, right there... pound my pussy..." She gropes back, fingers knitting into his dark robes, damp with sweat. 

" _Aghh--_ going to come on my cock? Come on, come for me, Ginny--" Nott rasps, pistoning hips slamming against the red, stinging cheeks of her ass. 

Ginny's always been an easy orgasm, and Theodore Nott using her name for the first time does the trick. "Yes--Nott! Fuck, come inside me, Nott, fill me with your fucking cum--" She bites out before turning incoherent, flooding herself with her orgasm just as the Potions Master grunts and explodes inside her, giving her the delicious sensation of his shaft pulsing against her squeezing walls, hot cum filling her aching pussy. 

She feels Nott slip out of her as he pulls away, collapsing into a nearby chair. Ginny bites her lip as she feels his seed dripping down her thighs, relishing the clinging warmth of her orgasm, before climbing off the desk and cleaning herself up with a flick of her wand. 

Nott looks boneless, a dazed expression on his splotchy face as he sinks back into his sweat-soaked robes. Ginny lifts an eyebrow as she buttons up her blouse, hiding her tender breasts from view once again. "Well. Glad we could come to an arrangement, Professor Nott." 

He nods, running a hand through his lank hair, struggling for breath. "...Feel free to drop by... if you have any more concerns about James' schooling." 

Ginny shrugs. "I'm sure he'll be fine. I think you'll find he's a _perfect_ student, if you give him a chance." 

Nott swallows and nods. 

Ginny smirks. She's not sure which she's more excited for--to see the look on James' face when he comes home with his marks for the term, or the look on Harry's when she tells him what she did to get them. 


	2. Hogwarts Boys Are Easy (Fleur x Cedric, Fleur x Dean, Fleur x Terry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Hogwarts boys who met Fleur at just the right time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a foursome on the generator, but decided to split them up into seperate vignettes, since I've always liked that kind of story. If you like any of these pairings let me know and I might write more. 
> 
> There's quite a bit of infidelity in this series so far, which is a side effect of the random ship generator, but I can promise they won't all be like this. If you're not into that, sorry! It's purely for porn's sake.

**Cedric**.

He rejects her. He _embarasses_ her. She bats her eyelashes, tosses her hair, uses all the charms of her foremothers and somehow, someway, he resists her. Her!

The other boy, Davies, is good-looking enough and constantly drooling over her, but secretly, Fleur is fuming.

At the Yule Ball, she gets a look at the little hag he's taking instead of her. Cho Chang is stubby and skinny and positively hideous compared to her. Still, Fleur gives her a glowing smile and tells her she looks beautiful in her dress. When she catches Cedric's eye, he avoids her gaze.

As the night grows later, the couples disappear into the garden one-by-one, giggling and catching their breath. Fleur can practically smell the lust in the air, radiating thick and heavy like a fog. Roger's all too eager, of course. But he uses too much tongue when he kisses, and when he puts his hands on her, it's like he's touching a porcelain statue, not a girl. Flushed and frustrated, she tells him she's going to powder her nose, leaves him waiting in the rose bushes. 

"The minutes will seem like hours..." Roger murmurs stupidly as she walks away.

Her instincts must draw her to him, because in the shadows beneath the heavily overhanging trees, she sees his broad-shouldered frame, and in the dim glow spilling from the fairy lights, she catches a glimpse of his dark hair, his strong jaw. Fleur licks her lips.

"Where is your date, Monsieur Diggory?" She whispers, smirking.

She sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "She, erm... went to the loo."

"Lucky me." Without another word, Fleur takes him by the hand and leads him off the path, behind a thick-trunked oak tree. She hears him mumble something as if in protest, but he doesn't pull away. He's a bit stiff at first, but soon he's kissing her back urgently, his thick arms a perfect fit wrapped around her slender waist.

They break apart and Fleur slips the straps of her dress, peels the bodice down. Cedric's eyes are wide as he stares at her flawless breasts, pale and full in the bluish moonlight. He'll never forget this. She'll make sure of that.

He touches her, gropes and fondles with his strong hands, and Fleur rewards him with gentle sighs and hitched breaths, and then the returning touch of her own fingers, sliding into his robes, searching him out.

"Did she do 'zis for you?" She whispers as her hand wraps around his cock. She loves the way he hardens in her grasp.

His brow darkens, even as he pants, his whole body stiffening. "Don't... talk about her," He mutters.

"All right... I won't talk at all." Fleur raises an eyebrow and sinks to her knees. She'll have grass stains on her gown in the morning, tears from the sticks and twigs.

Cedric chokes out a gasp when she takes him into her mouth, slides her full, red lips down, down, down. She keeps her hands folded primly in her lap, but gives him all of her lips, her tongue, her throat. He's wonderfully average in size, as hard as granite and he tastes of sweat and soap. Fleur's delicate, slender neck rocks this way and that, like a snake being charmed, as she lavishes every inch of his length with all the passion of the Veela. He gapes down at her, shuddering, as she worships his cock with her wet mouth.

"Cedric?" Cho's soft voice floats from up the path.

His eyes flick in her direction, panicked, but Fleur places his hand on the back of her head and swallows his cock to the balls. Cedric stuffs his fist into his mouth, his fingers tightening on her scalp as he pushes her down, her immaculate blonde up-do bobbing between his legs. His hips buck automatically, fucking his prick down her throat. Fleur stares up at him with her luminous blue eyes, delicately blushing cheeks hollowed around his shaft, choking softly as it disappears past her lips.

"...Cedric? Where'd you go?" Cho asks again, as only feet away, her date grunts and explodes in Fleur's mouth. For what feels like minutes, he throbs powerfully in her sucking embrace as she eagerly swallows load after load of his hot cum, teasing her own pink nipples. She licks her lips and gives one final gulp, sitting back. Then she smiles sweetly and inclines her head.

Flushed, chest heaving, Cedric gives her a look of awe, tucks himself back into his robes, and stumbles out from behind the tree. Fleur hears Cho's sigh of relief.

"There you are!"

"...Yeah, sorry--" Cedric mumbles. "Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

Fleur pulls her dress back up, takes out a hankerchief and dabs at her smeared lipstick as the couple walks away. Now that she knows exactly what Cedric will be thinking of when Cho's lips are on his, she can focus on winning this _foutu_ competition.

**Dean.**

Dean is a sweet boy, tall and handsome, even with all the round-shouldered gangliness of an 18-year-old. It's only been three years since she was his age, but now that she's a married woman living with her husband, having all these teenagers around makes it feel like a lifetime ago.

Not that they haven't lived enough. Like Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna, Dean has a weight to his expression, a somber weariness to his manner that an 18-year-old boy should never have to bear. She can tell he's frustrated and listless when the others lock themselves away to plan during the day. But he still always has a helping hand for her, laying the table or washing the dishes, and an understanding smile when the goblin is driving her up the wall.

Shell Cottage is cramped and crowded and it feels as though Fleur spends every waking minute cooking or cleaning in an attempt to keep all its inhabitants alive and the cottage from descending into a pigsty. That is when she's not worrying about Death Eaters bursting in the door to murder them all. She wears an _apron_ now, and her long, silvery-blonde hair is constantly tied back in a haphazard bun, often decorated with bits of flour or soap suds.

At the end of the day, when she slides into bed, puts her hands on her husband, he's begun to sigh and turn away. "Sorry, love. Too many ears... I'm wiped out, anyway..." Lying there while Bill snores, Fleur feels unappreciated, even undesirable, for the first time in her life.

After supper one night, as Dean finishes drying the last of the dishes, Fleur wipes her pruned fingers and turns from the sink. "Dean."

"Yes?" He barely has to reach to put the mug away on top shelf.

"I was wondering if you could help me with something in ze garden. I think zere is a wasp's nest behind ze shed." She gives him a smile. "...And you are ze tallest." Bill is in the living room, reading the Daily Prophet with a creased brow.

"Sure, yeah." Dean shrugs. "No problem."

The sea crashes and roars below, the shadows growing long as they walk out to the small shed at the back of the garden. "A wasp's nest, you said?" Dean asks, looking up. "Might be better to get someone with a wand..."

"I am sure you can 'andle it," Fleur assures him, resting a hand on her collarbone as if to calm her thumping heart. She needs to be touched. Needs to feel something.

There really is a wasp's nest, grey and shriveled, nestled under the eaves of the shed, out of view from the cottage. Dean stands on his tiptoes, cautiously peering at it. "It's empty, I think." With a stick, he taps it and it comes down, splitting open on the ground to reveal the delicate, spiraled inside.

"Damn," He says, bending to examine it. "...Pretty thing. Maybe I'll sketch it."

When he straightens, running a hand through his curly black hair, she's standing within his reach, looking up at him. She's relieved that she doesn't even have to say anything to make his breath catch, his brown eyes widening as he finds himself face to face with her.

"...Mrs W--" He starts, but she hushes him.

She says nothing, just presses her hand to the front of his jeans and starts to rub. Dean's mouth drops open, staring down at her fingers, insistently kneading the rapidly growing bulge in his lap. Fleur enjoys his shock and wonder, but there's no time for it. She places one of his big hands on her breast, brings the other to her lips, capturing one of his long fingers in her mouth.

"Oh... _god_..." Dean bites it out, his face stricken with guilt, but he's an 18-year-old boy who nearly died only weeks ago, and even now, she's still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. He squeezes her round breasts through her dress while Fleur suckles on his fingers, presses his hips into her touch. In seconds, she's unbuttoning his jeans, drawing him out and Dean is swearing, cursing quietly to the wind.

His naked cock bobs up, dark and stiff and heavy in her hand. She pants as she wraps her fingers around his girth and begins to stroke insistently. Dean backs into the wall of the shed, gripping her arm, hard. "Shit... Fuck... _Fleur..._ feels so good..."

"Mhm..." She breathes. "My dress... help me with it..." Her with one hand, him with two, they fumble together with the buttons down the front of her floral sundress. He surprises her by flipping the cups of her bra down and she grabs him by his curls, drags his head down to her chest. He latches onto her large, creamy tits, sucking, licking, even grazing his teeth over her nipples. This he's done before. Fleur remembers that he dated Ginny at one point. Lucky girl.

She wants his face between her thighs, his big cock in her mouth, but she's already wet and they have to hurry, they have to hurry... She pulls his head away, turns, falling onto all fours on the patch of yellowing grass behind the shed.

"Bloody hell... I shouldn't... A-are you sure..." Dean mumbles, but she's already lifting her skirt, pulling her panties to the side, arching to present him with her round, juicy ass, her perfect pink pussy, already glistening. Her body has been well-hidden from him beneath the practical, frumpy clothing of a housewife, but now there's no denying her jaw-dropping curves, womanly and youthful, pale and soft.

Fleur looks back and sees the almost pained need on his face, shame and lust, his eyes devouring her, his cock achingly hard, thick veins standing out from the taut, dark flesh. She wants to give him relief, she wants to make him feel good. In answer to his stammered questions, she reaches for his shaft, draws him close to rub the bulging mushroom head against her soft folds, so he can see how it makes her shiver, feel how wet she is for him.

"Will you fuck me, Dean? I want you inside me... Please, I want your cock..." She begs with her words and her eyes until he's sliding inside her, gloriously stretching her walls. " _Oui_..." She whimpers. " _Oui, oui, oui,_ fuck me..."

"Oh my God... Fucking Christ..." Dean continues to sound surprised as he fucks her from behind on the dead grass, her dress hiked up, her fingers digging into the dirt. But he's good, he's _so_ good, desperate and raw and invigorating, pounding her cunt with a boy's careless enthusiasm and vigour, using his bruising grip on her hip and one of her swinging tits to bounce her back on his driving cock.

"Mm--mm--mm--mm!" The breath is forced out of Fleur's lungs every time Dean thrusts balls-deep inside her, his slim hips beating wildly against her full, shuddering ass. Over her shoulder, she watches her pussy swallow his hard shaft, her rosy folds, her pale, moonlight skin a stark contrast with his long, black cock shiny with her arousal.

" _Oui...._ Yes, darling, _oui,_ like zat, yess... Take me, darling... I'm all yours..." She coos encouragement between sighs, but as his thrusts jostle her harder, she reaches between her legs to stroke her own needy clit, and her words are lost in her stifled moans. "...It's so _big_... so big in my pussy..."

She presses her cheek into the grass, as her fingers race to hasten her orgasm, knowing Dean won't last long like this, gripping her wide hips and pumping her with reckless abandon, taking out weeks of frustration and fear on her squeezing, milking cunt. "Fuck yeah... Take it... Fleur bloody Delacour... Holy shit... So fucking good..." He hisses through gritted teeth. Fleur just moans, closing her eyes so she can feel every inch of his cock filling her up, every ridge and vein against her inner walls.

When she's about to come, her fingers scrabble at his hand, nails digging into his vice-like grip. He understands just in time to cover her mouth as she cries out wordlessly, stiffening against him, his long frame leaning over her, continuing to fuck her through her quivering orgasm.

"Fleur, I'm gonna--" He groans, hot in her ear, and she collapses forward onto the ground, rolls over to catch the first rope on her chest. She strokes more and more and more out as he shudders and pants, making a white, sticky mess of her heaving tits and slender neck.

He falls onto his rear next to her, wiping the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his t-shirt. "Fuck... Sorry..." She can see it washing over him, the reality of having fucked his married hostess, but she wants to keep him happy for a few more minutes, so she shakes her head, gently toying with her glazed breasts.

"...Never apologize after you 'ave... fucked a woman like zat." Catching her breath, she finds her wand and cleans herself up with a swish and a flick. "...I can leave you to deal with the ze terrible wasps' nest, then?"

Mouth still slightly open, Dean swallows and nods, zipping up his jeans. Standing, doing up her buttons, she bends and presses a kiss to his forehead. Then she returns to the cottage, where for once, all is calm and quiet.

**Terry.**

She's 24, the mother to a beautiful toddler and the wife to a husband that's in Egypt for half the year. 

Victoire had barely turned three before Bill had taken up curse-breaking again and Fleur spends her days alone with her daughter in the small cottage on a lonely cliffside, almost missing the crowded hubbub of those months during the war. She realizes very quickly that she doesn't really have any friends in this country. She does have family, and she certainly sees a fair amount of Molly, who's naturally far more excited to see Victoire than her, but the only young people she knows are hard at work at their impressive jobs--Auror, Quidditch player, naturalist.

It's Molly who leaves the flyer one day, perhaps as a not-too-subtle dig at Fleur's house-keeping skills. _POTIONS AND ELIXIRS FOR A HAPPY HOME! SOLUTIONS THAT BEST ANY MESS ON ROBES, FLOORS, OR DISHES! CONCOCTIONS FOR A GLORIOUS GARDEN! SPEND LESS TIME ON HOUSEWORK AND MORE TIME PAMPERING YOURSELF WITH HAIR-CARE TONICS, FRESHENING SKIN SALVES AND MUCH MUCH MORE! SEND YOUR OWL TODAY TO AUNT PEARLINA'S POTIONS FOR THE HOME!_

It's out of pure boredom Fleur sends the owl. Between taking care of Victoire and the house, it might be worth it to spend some of her husband's money and see if any of "Aunt Pearlina's" potions actually work. The next day she's startled by a cheery rapping at the door in the afternoon. It's a Friday, Victoire is at the Burrow for the day. Since it's her "day off" of sorts, Fleur's been lazing around the house in a pair of spandex shorts and a tank-top, so she grabs a long cardigan to answer the door.

The wizard on the doorstep of Shell Cottage is young, with light brown skin, somewhat hastily combed dark hair, and a slightly nervous, boyish smile. He's shorter than her, broad-shouldered and looks somewhat uncomfortable in his pressed purple robes. He blinks at her. "Cripes, you _are_ Fleur Delacour..."

She frowns. "...Yes?"

"Fleur _Weasley_ now, sorry, just threw me off..." He hefts the heavy-looking briefcase in his hand. "...Cocking this one up, aren't I? Hiya, I'm from Aunt Pearlina's Potions, I'm here to show you our selection of household potions, elixirs and unctions. Name's Boot...T--"

"--Terry!" She says with a snap of her fingers, and he looks shocked. "I do recognize you... you're one of 'arry's friends from 'ogwarts." Now she remembers. He was in the battle. He doesn't look much older than he did then.

Terry scratches his head, obviously trying to hide the fact that he's pleased. "That's, uh... that's right. Ravenclaw. Saw you in the Triwizard Tournament and everything. And at the Yule Ball, of course."

She smiles. There's something oddly charming about the way he seems to say exactly what pops into his head at that very moment. "Please. Any friend of 'Arry's is welcome 'ere. I'll put the kettle on and you can show me all of your potions."

"Brill..." He grins as he steps inside. "Cute place!"

She directs him to the sofa while they have a cup of tea and some of Molly's leftover cake. They end up talking--about Hogwarts and Harry, France and Britain. He's unfailingly blunt in his observations and his stories are crass and funny, forcing her to cover her giggles with a hand. He's not a very good saleswizard-- it's nearly thirty minutes before he even opens his briefcase. She points this out, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"Way to fill a bloke with confidence..." He mutters, flipping the lid of the case back. An entire shop-window display of small bottles unfolds from it like a pop-up book. "To be honest, I'm much better at the potion-making part."

"You _make_ the potions?" Fleur says without hiding her surprise.

"Yeah. If I'm totally honest, "Aunt Pearlina" is a Scottish wizard called Bernard." He sorts rather haphazardly through the bottles. "He hired me straight out of Hogwarts to make the potions from some old recipes he collected, modify them where I could. Me and another Ravenclaw, Padma Patil, do you know her? Here, let me show you the ones that actually work."

He shows her a cleaning solution that turns clothing stains invisible, one that shrinks large messes down so they can be wiped away with a single paper towel, and one that make her house-plants bloom tiny flowers which emit their own perfume. They do also fill the room with large blue bubbles, which Terry has to pop with his wand while Fleur grows breathless with laughter. At some point they switch from tea to wine and everything gets even funnier.

"What about ze..." Her accent, which has faded a bit in the past few years, sometimes makes a return when she's tipsy. "...the personal products?"

"Oh, the hair tonic and skincare line? It's rubbish. Not that you'd need it anyway." He hurriedly buries his face in his wine glass after that, apparently realizing what he said.

"What was that?" She teases, tongue between her teeth.

"Oh, come off it," He actually rolls his eyes. "You know you're gorgeous. Isn't that one of your magic powers? You're just supernaturally lush?"

She raises her eyebrow at the slang word, but she gets the idea. "...I suppose. But let me tell you... once you've been married for a few years, even Veela can get taken for granted. The spark fades." She sips her wine, pouting slightly.

Terry gives her a sympathetic look. "Ah...That's a shame." 

"Soooo? Come on!" She leans forward to slap him on the arm, drawing one of her legs up onto the couch. "Do you 'ave anything in one of those little bottles that can 'elp me?"

He digs through them a bit idly. "Well... since you asked... we do carry a few... marital aids."

Fleur gasps, mock scandalized. "Monsieur Boot!"

"...I don't typically demonstrate them," He says quickly, already turning a bit red. It's frankly adorable. "...Not even sure if I have any in here. Oh, wait--" He plucks a small bottle with deep purple glass from the back of the display.

"...A love potion?" She takes it from his outstretched hand.

"No, of course, not! We'd be shut down. It's just an aphrodisiac. Increases... sensation. Doesn't affect your judgement at all. Just brings the spark back, hopefully." He swallows. "I'll leave that sample bottle with you, shall I?"

"This really works?" She asks skeptically, examines the tiny bottle, the clear liquid swimming inside. "I don't believe it." She uncorks it and brings it to her lips.

"Hang on--" Terry starts, but Fleur throws it back, watching him.

"What? I 'ave to know if it works, don't I?" She purses her lips innocently, enjoying Terry's wide eyes. She sticks her tongue out. "Yuck. Tastes 'orrible."

But slowly, a warmth begins to spread through her, as if she had drunk a full mug of Butterbeer in a single draught. She feels herself flush--cheeks, neck and chest. The soft cotton tanktop has become rough against her skin, rubbing uncomfortably against her suddenly very sensitive breasts. The heat is overwhelming, like a hundred invisible fingers running down her stomach, tingling along her inner thighs...

"E-excuse me, I 'ave to powder my nose." With as much dignity as she can muster, she stands, wrapping her cardigan around herself, and hurries to the bathroom next to the kitchen, leaving Terry alone in the living room. 

Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, it looks as though she'd been interrupted during a very heated snogging session. She's bright pink, even starting to perspire a bit in a dewy glow, and her nipples are poking starkly through her tanktop. Why in Merlin's name had she drunk that bloody potion?

 _Terry._ That was why. She'd been flirting with that 21-year-old saleswizard. But it's not her fault--she's so _lonely_ and he's so funny and blunt and nervous around her. _And at the Yule Ball, of course,_ he had said. She must have been a memorable sight for a 14-year-old boy. What was it like for him to knock on the door and see the woman from his boyhood fantasies?

Merlin, she's wet. She can't go back out there like this.

Several minutes later, there's a knock at the bathroom door. "Erm... Mrs. Weasley? Everything all right? You just... you're not meant to drink the whole bottle." He pauses for a moment. "Maybe I'd better go."

"Just... fucking... get in here..." She bites out, lips pressed tightly together. The door opens slowly, revealing Fleur Delacour on the bathroom floor, long legs spread, a hand between her thighs, furiously fingering her visibly soaked pussy. She looks up at Terry with her large eyes and whines out in frustration, because the look on his face only turns her on more. There's shock there and a bit of guilt, like on Dean's face all those years ago, but only a bit. Mostly there's lust, hungry and fierce, so unfitting on his pleasant, boyish face.

The sound of her wet cunt squelching around her fingers is defeaning in the tiny bathroom. Her toes curl and flex against the tiles, one large, pale tit spilling out of her tanktop so she can pinch her own swollen nipple.

"Need some assistance, Mrs. Weasley?" Terry asks, voice hoarse.

Fleur bites her lip and nods desperately. Slowly, Terry lowers himself to his knees and leans forward as if in supplication, his hands firmly parting her thighs as he presses his mouth to her cunt.

"Oh my god, _yes_!" She cries, his tongue a heavenly relief on her tingling, over-heating pussy. He positively devours her, worshipping her cunt like a possessed man, fingers, tongue and lips all at once, sloppy and obscene and overwhelming.

Fleur throws her head back, banging it against the bathtub, but she barely feels anything over the burning pleasure radiating from her sex. Moaning, begging in French, English and everything in between, she writhes and squirms on the floor, grabbing handfuls of his hair, trying to squeeze his face between her thighs. But he won't let her, keeping her legs spread as his thick fingers thrust inside her and drive against her g-spot, her tight pussy aching to clutch around them.

Hips bucking, she squeezes her eyes shut, cries rising in pitch, and comes on Terry's tongue, wordless and wanton. But he doesn't stop, keeping his lips firmly clamped over her clit, and Fleur feels another wave of ecstasy approaching like a riptide. "Again!" She squeaks in shock, almost panicked. "I'm going to come again!" And she does, seizing and practically shivering from the punishing double orgasm. Thank god for this fucking potion.

Even as she collapses back against the bathtub, breath heaving, Terry isn't finished. Almost leaping to his feet, she sees him reaching inside his robes, where there's a sizeable tent.

"...want it, Fleur?" He mutters and Fleur nods, drunk with pleasure. She barely gets her mouth open in time for him to shove his hard cock past her lips. His hand wraps around her loose ponytail and Fleur gags as his cockhead bumps the back of her throat, her mouth full of his shaft. She's shocked at the roughness, but when he pauses for a moment, Fleur only opens her lips wider and looks up at him temptingly.

So Terry fucks her face, forcing her to deepthroat him, pushing her head down so she chokes and smacks on his cock. Her eyes are wide and watering, because she's never been treated like this, like a whore, like a toy. His balls bump her chin, her nose brushes his wiry hair, as she somehow swallows all of his surprisingly large cock, and he groans and grunts to her while he slams into her throat.

"Fuck, that's good... Take it all down, Mrs. Weasley... Merlin, you're so bloody gorgeous... suck my fucking cock... That's it, love... Like that, do you?"

At this she moans over her own wet sounds, nodding, cupping her tits. She does like it, his meaty, masculine cock making her jaw ache, sliding her tongue over the hard, musky flesh as she takes it as deep as she can.

"I'm close...Where d'you want it?" He moans, pulling out to give her a breath to speak.

"Anywhere... Just give me your cum, Terry..." She pants, but perhaps saying his name was a mistake, because he moans and his thick cock pulses directly in her face and she has to squeeze her eyes shut as she feels his hot load splatter onto her cheek. "Oh, _mon dieu!"_ She gasps, sticking her tongue out to catch as much as she can, but when he's finished, she's thoroughly painted. "Monsieur Boot!" She opens her eyes, feeling the stickness on her cheeks, chin and lips.

"You did say anywhere," Terry says, catching his breath. "I can clean you up." Straightening, she waves this aside, and wipes some away with her finger, sucking it clean. "Bloody hell... Never thought I'd see that... Fleur Delacour..."

"...Swallowing your cum? Lucky boy. I guess that potion of yours really works... I couldn't resist," She smirks.

"Actually..." Terry looks sheepish for a moment. "It's just a Warming Draught. Not much more than a hot cup of tea in a small bottle."

Her mouth drops open. "My god... you fraud! So it was just..." She stammers.

He shrugs, trying and failing to hide his pleasure. "...A spark, I guess."

"Oh, you'll pay for that," Fleur warns, glowering at him as she pulls her tanktop over her head.

And he does. She lays back on the kitchen table and makes him eat her pussy until she comes twice more. Only then does she let Terry fuck her on it, her long, slender legs thrown over his shoulders as he stretches her pussy with his fat cock, shaking the table, her big, perky tits rocking wildly.

He's hardly her physical type, in fact she's never slept with a man who's shorter than her, but she hasn't had such _fun_ sex in what feels like years. The young saleswizard says the filthiest things while he fucks her, how we used to fantasize about her, how all the Hogwarts boys did, as he roughly gropes her tits, her ass, everywhere he can reach, like he can hardly believe she's real.

They end up on the kitchen floor, where she lets her ponytail down, shaking out the silvery-blonde curtain of hair so that it tumbles to her waist, draping around her naked body as she lowers herself down onto him. She loves how Terry stares up in open-mouthed awe at her and runs his hands reverently over her ungodly curves, but even more, she loves how he smacks her ass and shamelessly tongues her nipples once she starts bouncing on his cock.

They never even make it to the bedroom. She rides him until he explodes in her enveloping pussy there on the floor, then lovingly sucks his cock back to life on all fours. He doesn't need a potion for that--he's rock hard and bending her over the sofa only a few minutes later. He gathers her silken tresses in his fist, uses them to tug her back onto his pounding cock, asks if she's a slut and a whore until she's screaming that she is, begging for his cum inside her again. When she feels him start to throb, a quick, intense orgasm shakes her.

Both naked and covered in sweat in the living room, Terry says he should be going soon and she agrees--she's supposed to pick up Victoire any time now.

"Unless... you want to shower before you go?" Fleur says breathlessly. "Wouldn't want to soil your lovely work robes."

" _Oui, oui,_ give me your big cock, fuck my slutty pussy..." Hands flat against the shower walls, Fleur bounces her plump ass back onto him as Terry slams into her beneath the hot, pounding water. One hand plays with her soapy tits while his thumb works into her asshole. It feels filthy and perverted and Fleur wonders what his cock would feel like squeezing into her tight rear. Maybe next time.

"God, you're so bloody hot, Fleur, you feel fucking amazing--"

"--Yesss, 'arder, _m_ _on dieu,_ I love your fucking cock--"

"Yeah, you do... so fucking wet... Gonna come for me again, eh?"

"Yes, _yes!_ Don't stop, don't stop, oh Terry, _Terry_!"

She's not sure if she's cried out anyone else's name during sex apart from Bill's. Maybe that's when this becomes an affair.

Or maybe it's when she finds herself flipping through Aunt Pearlina's flyer again the following week. A bored housewife and a charming young saleswizard--it's quite the cliche. But she sends the owl anyway.


	3. Breaking The Seal (Susan x Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a post-war pool party, Susan catches Harry's eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of a familiar couple this time. I should note that while the pairings are all generated through the ship generator, I do play with the settings and flip through a bit until I get something I like, so it's far from totally random. That also means that while it's not likely I can replicate an exact pairing, I am able to take into count what people would like to see in terms of characters and scenarios. So let me know what you're hoping for! I appreciate all comments.

It's starting to hit Harry that he may be drunk for the first time in his life as he stares across the crowded swimming pool, the noise of the party all around him.

His head is buzzing, his feet feel heavy, and Susan Bones's swimsuit is caught in the cleft of her rather thick ass.

She's just emerged from the pool and is pulling herself onto the deck, water streaming down her body in a very attractive way. With one corner of thin material trapped between the round globes, he can see the tan line dividing the curve of her right ass-cheek between fair and bronzed.

Harry likes both, especially now that the smooth skin is beaded with droplets. Has her arse always been that big? He sips the firewhisky and coke that Seamus had thrust into his hand.

As he watches, Susan runs her hands beneath her one-piece swimsuit, freeing the band of stretchy fabric and letting it snap back into its proper place, hugging her curves in a way that's slightly more modest. Not enough to stop him from watching a bit longer as she strides away from the pool, crossing to the snack table where Parvati and Ernie are chatting.

She reaches down to grab a crisp from the bowl and turns, making direct eye contact with Harry. The alcohol slowing his reflexes, Harry coughs and looks away, but not nearly quick enough.

When he glances back, Susan is talking to Parvati, seemingly oblivious, although Harry catches a slight smirk to the corner of her lips. Flushing, Harry retreats into Justin's house, stumbling only a little bit.

He runs himself a glass of water in the kitchen, trying to cool the prickly heat pressing at his skin from the inside. Then the sliding door opens and Susan is standing there in her tight little Hufflepuff yellow swimsuit, auburn hair pulled back into her characteristic plait.

"Hey," she says, casual as you please. He nods, clearing his throat in a greeting-type way. As her body brushes past him on her way to the fridge, he catches her clean, sweet scent and has the drunken urge to grab her, shove her up against the kitchen counter. What is wrong with him?

He risks a glance over his shoulder at her. She has her back to him again, standing in front of the open refrigerator. She's humming along to the music from outside, bouncing on her heels to the beat in a way that makes everything jiggle. Bloody hell.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" She asks suddenly and Harry splutters on his water. She looks over her shoulder at him and smiles innocently. Susan's always been a slightly tomboyish looking girl, with a strong jaw and a snubbed nose, but there's no denying she's pretty. Her hazel eyes are full and expressive, her cheeks pleasantly rosy.

"Yeah, I think, yeah, a bit," He mumbles.

She nods, raising her eyebrows. "That why you keep staring at my arse?"

Harry opens his mouth and his booze-addled brain utterly fails him. "...Wha--I, erm..."

Susan laughs. "It's fine, Harry. Drunk and horny. It's normal. Besides, it's not like anyone here would mind." She grabs a bottle of wine out of the fridge and moves to the counter next to him, pouring herself a glass.

Harry is so relieved to be let off the hook that he almost doesn't catch that last remark. "What, uh... what'd you mean by that..."

"I mean... you're Harry. You're _our_ Harry," she says simply.

Harry frowns. "...And what's that mean?"

Susan bites her lip, looking at him like he's an idiot. "Look at out there."

Harry does, at the other members of Dumbledore's Army laughing in Justin's back garden, splashing each other in the pool, clinking glasses.

"You do know you could have any girl out there, if you wanted to?"

Harry's eyebrows shoot up. Then he laughs. "Right..."

"I'm serious." She elbows him. "You saved all our bloody lives."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Oh, and that means I get a free shag pass or something..." He only slurs a bit.

Susan snorts. "No... But it's not nothing. We all love you. I promise you, no girl out there would say no to you. Not now that you and Ginny are on a break."

Harry runs his eyes across the girls of Dumbledore's Army out back. The slender and glamorous Patil twins sitting poolside in their matching blue bikinis. Petite, athletic Katie Bell shrieking happily as Terry and Anthony splash her. And of course, famously busty Lavender Brown gyrating along to the music, practically spilling out of her pink swimsuit top.

"So... what'd you reckon?" Susan's voice brings him back. She's smirking at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Any girl out there?" He asks, swallowing. It's only the alcohol that lets him say the next bit out loud. "...What about in here?"

Susan cocks an eyebrow. Her hands go to her braid, toying absently with it. "That's another matter, I guess..."

"Yeah?" Harry turns towards her.

"Well..." She says softly. "I suppose I did say anyone..."

Slowly, Harry reaches down to put his hand on her lower back. Keeping his eyes on her, gauging her expression, he slides down onto the curve of that thick ass and squeezes. Susan smiles, chewing her lip. "That what you were thinking about when you were staring at me?" Harry nods, and without meaning to, the next squeeze is rougher, but Susan is right there with him, pressing her body against his, groping for the bulge in his swim trunks.

"Oi, Susan--" Harry groans, gasping as Susan slips a hand beneath his waistband and curls her fingers around his hardening length. "...Won't they see?"

"Oh, let them. We're all friends here, aren't we?" Susan pulls his stiff cock out of his trunks. She starts to jerk him right there in Justin's kitchen, the granite-counter island the only thing blocking his naked dick from full view of the party.

"Fuck..." Harry's head spins as he stares down at Susan's hand sliding up and down his shaft. She leans down and spits, letting a mouthful of saliva fall onto his cockhead, soon slicking his entire shaft as she runs her hands across him.

His heart feels like it's pumping a million times a minute, this is so bloody hot. His hand slips around Susan's cheek and she parts her lips for his thumb, giving it a playful bite as she shoots him a naughty smile.

"Is this what you wanted, Harry? To get off, right now, with the closest girl you could grab?" She whispers, giving his thumb a gentle suck.

Harry grits his teeth. "Only if she was you..."

"Liar..." She smirks.

"I'm not," He says and shoves her up against the island like he'd wanted to, spins her around to bend her over the cool counter-top.

Susan gasps as he presses into her from behind, slipping his hands beneath her swimswuit to play with her pert breasts, nipples hard against the thin material. But soon he returns to that magnificent rear, sinking his fingers into the ample swell of her cheeks.

"All about the arse, is it?" Susan laughs breathlessly, swaying it temptingly for him. She stiffens, letting out a squeak of surprise as Harry moves aside her bathing suit, exposing her delicate pink lips. "Harry--" She gasps, gaze flicking out to the party.

"We're all friends here, didn't you say?" Harry murmurs, cupping Susan's sex, smearing his palm with warm wetness while she squirms, breath deepening. He doesn't see anyone heading for the sliding door, so he sinks a finger inside her. Susan's wet and tight and her walls cling to him as he strokes her slick pussy, pressing hard kisses to her exposed back and shoulders.

"A-arsehole..." She huffs at his quip, voice shaking between sighs, eyelids fluttering, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips.

"If you like..." Harry grins, playfully brushing his thumb across her tight rear entrance. He only meant to tease her, but Susan breathes in sharply and grabs his wrist, holding him right where he is.

Their eyes meet in the shadowy kitchen, their friends only twenty feet away behind glass as their gazes lock, faces only inches apart. Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry eases his thumb into Susan Bones' asshole, feeling the clasping muscles yield to allow him entrance. Susan's mouth is open, hazel eyes hazy with lust, and a low moan starts in her throat as he gently pumps his thumb in and out of her ass. Her fingers are still wrapped around his wrist, but the grip goes slack as she arches back into his hand.

Harry's gaze flicks behind her to the party, where he can hear Lee Jordan's jubilant shouting about something. As long as it keeps everyone out there, he doesn't care. His drunken brain is focused on one thing and one thing only. "...Can I do whatever I want to you, Susan?" He hisses.

"Merlin, you _are_ drunk--Unhh..." But then she nods, gasping, as his mouth captures the tender flesh of her neck, his stiff cock sliding between her cheeks, his thumb still working inside her. Her pussy is even wetter then before, so he gathers her slick arousal with his fingers, spreads it over his cock.

Then he eases his thumb out of her ass and replaces it with his achingly hard erection. "Ahhh.... _Fuck_ \--" Susan curses, breathless, as it goes in, slowly, the muscles squeezing around his girth, unbearably tight. Harry can scarcely take it, but he keeps working it in, mouth open in shock at the sight of Susan Bones' plump ass swallowing his cock. Susan's lips are parted in surprise, too, eyes wide as she looks back at him. "...You're in my fucking arse... Bloody _hell_ , Harry--"

By way of response, he kisses her, hard and sloppy, and she moans, sucking on his tongue. "Oh, fuck me, then..." She hisses into his mouth, and he obliges, steady and smooth strokes in and out of her arse. "Fuck my arse..." It's a harsh whisper as Harry's hand clamps onto her shoulder, pinning her to the counter, hips pumping to fuck Susan Bones up the ass in the middle of Justin's kitchen.

Susan grips the edge of the island with white knuckles, bottom lip trembling, reaching back to dig her fingers into Harry's thigh. He groans, not quite believing what he's doing, unsure how long he can last in the gripping embrace of her rear. It's quiet, their ragged breaths, her swimsuit swishing as she squirms, standing on her tiptoes, the soft, but persistent sound of his pelvis meeting her round cheeks.

He squeezes his hand between her full thigh and the counter to reach her pussy, stuffing two fingers inside her. Susan squeals and sighs, stretching up as tall as she can, butt twisting against him, as Harry fills her from both sides, her cunt gushing around his fingers as he wrestles her in place for his cock skewering her ass.

" _Hnnggh_... _unhh...._ Harryyy! _"_ Susan can barely muffle her desperate, almost panicked moans. "Fuck me, Harry, _please,_ fuck my arse like that..." She begs.

Grunting, Harry obliges, shifting his grip to the back of her neck, slamming into her as hard as he dares. He's never felt so powerful--barely ten minutes ago, he'd been staring with longing at this big, round ass from the other side of the pool, and now, a few exchanged words later and Susan is begging him to fuck it, moaning like she's in heat as her arse squeezes around his plunging cock.

Then the sliding door opens and a group of about four or five of their friends walk into the kitchen, talking to each other, distracted. Harry feels Susan's hand slap at his thigh in a panic, but it's way too late to stop, so he just keeps thrusting.

Parvati turns and sees them first, mouth dropping open. "Oh my god, you're _shitting_ me! _"_

"Bloody hell, Harry, all right!" Seamus blurts.

"What?" Katie says with her face in his cup, nearly choking when her head turns to spot them.

Ernie Macmillan, one of Susan's closest friends for all of Hogwarts, is slack-jawed.

Maybe it's the audience, or maybe he's trying to finish before the entire party is in here, but in his current state all he can think of is to fuck Susan faster, bouncing her cheeks and forcing a moan out with every thrust, her characteristic auburn plait slapping against her back.

"Oh FUCK, oh _god..._ I'm gonna come... I'mgonnafuckingcome..." Susan slurs, bright red, eyes rolling back so at least she doesn't have to look at her classmates watching her be pounded.

But Harry, a showman at heart, is looking for the audience reaction, and he sees it. Parvati cheers, clapping her hands and Seamus hoots, while Katie has her mouth covered with both hands and Ernie looks dazed and slightly aroused.

"Me too--" Harry groans.

"Oh, this I've got to see!" Parvati practically skips around the island and suddenly, she's next to them, resting a hand on the countertop. Her eyes widen again. "He's in her arse, he's in her arse!" She calls out, just as they both start to come.

Susan's loud in spite of herself, writhing, breath shuddering, almost choking before she lets out a loud, ecstatic moan sure to cause problems for anyone in swim trunks. Her pussy grips his fingers and her ass clenches around Harry's cock, which responds with a hard throb, shooting his first load inside her. Huffing, Harry pulls out of her ass and lets the rest paint the tanned flesh of her full cheeks, splattering her swimsuit as his hips buck uncontrollably, his legs barely keeping him upright.

"Fuuuck yes... Look at all that cum..." There's a hiss in his ear and he feels a soft hand gently cradle his balls. When he turns towards her, Parvati gets on her tiptoes and kisses him full on the mouth, lips parting so he can taste her tongue.

She releases him and steps back in time for Harry to see Susan turn, leaning on the island for support, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "...Told you," She says with a shrug, panting.

"Yeah, and I still picked you..." He murmurs so only she can hear.

Susan snorts, still catching her breath. "I'm done for now, lion boy. You have your fun. Just... check back with me later?" She tucks him back into his swim shorts, gives him a pat on the chest and heads off towards the bathroom. The audience is now applauding, except for Ernie, still standing there shell-shocked. "All right, Ern?" She loops a lazy arm around his neck and crushes her lips to his. When she pulls back he's still frozen, but his eyes go as big as galleons. "Everybody should just fuck! Get it out of your system," she throws over her shoulder as she heads down the hall.

"Sounds good to me," Parvati murmurs from next to Harry, pointing her chest at him so his eyes catch the smooth copper of her perky cleavage in her bikini top.

Harry sighs. "...All right, find a guestroom and take off your swimsuit, I suppose."

Parvati grins and hurries upstairs. Harry stretches and runs a hand through his already sweaty hair. What has he unleashed?


End file.
